A buffalo and a peasant were toiling under a hot sun. The peasant matched the buffalo’s steady gait, sometimes holding the yoke, sometimes tapping its haunch with a short stick, urging it forward. The soil behind them splitting under the weight of the plough.

From the shade, a tiger and a monkey watched them work. “Look at that servile creature,” said the monkey. “I’d die before I’d let them get that contraption around my neck.” “And think of the meat underneath that tough hide,” the tiger replied. “Let’s put it out of its misery.”

Presently, the peasant stopped for lunch and left the buffalo unattended. The monkey seized the opportunity. “Friend,” it began as it danced across the broken ground. “Why are you standing there in the blazing sun?” “I’m waiting for my master to return with my feed,” the buffalo replied.

“Your master? Gah!” the monkey spluttered. “A powerful, noble creature like you talking of masters? Where’s your dignity? Where’s your self-respect?” The buffalo let out a weary sigh. “There’s nothing to be done,” it said.

“We must free you of these chains,” the monkey replied, then it lifted the bar of the yoke just enough for the buffalo to pull itself from underneath. “Now we must hurry before the peasant returns.” The monkey danced back into the shade and the buffalo, not knowing what else to do, followed.

“Tell me, buffalo, what are you going to do with your freedom? Where are you going to go?” the monkey enquired, as it swung through the trees. The buffalo thought for a while. “I don’t really know,” it replied. “I’m quite hungry.” “Me too,” the monkey chuckled. “Me too.”

Eventually, the monkey reached its destination, a dusty clearing sheltered by a low rocky outcrop. The buffalo sniffed the air and it didn’t like what it found, traces of something rank and rotten. “This isn’t where you live, is it?” the buffalo asked.

The monkey turned to acknowledge the tiger, who had appeared behind the buffalo, cutting off its escape. “It would be more accurate”—the tiger explained, revealing its long sharp teeth—“to describe as the place where we come to eat.”

All this talk of eating gave the buffalo an idea. “I know where I’d like to go!” it declared. “A nice marshy area with plenty of sedge and duckweed and water spinach.” The tiger sucked its teeth. “Next time, eh?” it replied.

It was then the buffalo realised what was about to happen. “Villains!” it bellowed. “Is this how you help me? Is this what you call freedom?”

“Yes!” cried the monkey, jumping up and down, as the tiger tore the buffalo apart. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

 Richard Parkin, 2025